Victorian Ib fanfiction
by nevermore-kawaii
Summary: ((Help with the title, please!)) A fanfiction in which a 15 year old Ib gets trapped in an art gallery. Set in the Victorian era. Better than it sounds, I promise. Will be updated slowly. Please R&R, it means a lot!
1. Prologue

"But mother, why do I have to go?"Ib sat in the back of the hackney cab with her parents.  
"Now dear, you are almost of marrying age. It will be far easier to find you a husband if you are cultured, and a patron of the arts." Her mother sighed. "Did you remember your handkerchief?" Ib waved the small square of lace-trim cloth. It was perfectly white, and had her name and a simple rose design embroidered in the corner. It was a present from her most recent birthday, and she treasured it dearly.  
The horse-drawn cab came to a halt outside of the Gallery. Ib's father got out first, to pay the driver, followed by her mother, then by lb herself. As they ascended the Gallery's steps Ib began to feel more and more nervous about the whole endeavour. The showcase was of works by Guertana who, despite being inarguably one of the greatest artists of all time, often had his works labeled as being macabre or unsettling. Ib played with her handkerchief, wrapping the fabric around each gloved finger in turn.  
"Mother, father, may I please peruse the gallery alone?" she inquired innocently.  
"Without a chaperone?!" her mother gasped. "You'll cause a scandal!"  
"Come now, darling, be reasonable. You're talking of marrying the girl off in no time at all! At least let her have a little freedom!" Ib's father said. "Off you go, lb."  
lb smiled and left her parents in the foyer. She decided to explore the downstairs first, reading the captions, looking at the paintings, and eavesdropping on the conversations of others. After another brief conversation with her parents, she ventured upstairs.  
There was a man near the top of the staircase that caught her attention almost instantaneously. Wearing a somewhat ragged cloak, and with hair in the most peculiar shade of lavender, he was quite something to behold. She sidled up to him, and read the title of the painting he was observing. "The Hanging Man," 'How gruesome!' lb thought to herself, turning her attention back to the strange man. He was rather handsome, in a peculiar way. lb stared at him, but he was yet to notice her at all, far too enthralled by the painting. She thought that she might be bothering him, so turned on her heels and walked away from the strange painting and the even stranger fellow looking at it.


	2. Chapter 1

"Come Ib"  
She could hear it. It was no more than a whisper, but it was definatly there. The lights flickered and went out.  
Where was everyone? The gallery was so crowded only a moment ago, and now...It was totally deserted. Even her parents were nowhere to be found. She began to notice strange sounds, footsteps, coughing, a cat meowing. She witnessed fruit falling from a painting. She was going completely mad.  
There was a large painting on the wall. She recalled walking past it earlier, not finding it very interesting. She began to walk past the painting when she heard it.  
"Come Ib" whispered the voice in the back of her head.  
It was drawing her towards the painting.  
"Fa...fabri..cated World" Ib struggled with the darkness and the small lettering of the caption below the large painting. She hunkered down to see if she could get a better look at it, but instead became aware of a blue liquid dripping down from behind the frame. She touched a gloved finger against it. Paint. Of course it was paint, what else would it be? Breathing a sigh of relief, Ib straightened up. She heard a series of noises, easiest to describe as a dripping-thump, coming from behind her. When she was certain that the noises had stopped, she braced herself and turned around.  
"COME IB" was written across the floor in vivid red lettering. She gasped, and backed up towards the wall, stopping when she remembered the paint. Turning to look at it, she saw that something was written there.  
"Come down below, Ib" she read aloud, "I'll show you some place secret." Other than the main entrance and a few doors marked "Staff only", Ib could not remember there being any doors downstairs. Nevertheless, she turned on her heels and walked towards the stairs.  
Ib reached the foyer. It was just as deserted as the rest of the gallery, even the staff had vanished. Out of curiosity, she tried to open the door. Locked. Why was it locked? Had the gallery closed, and Ib was unaware of it? And how did that explain the strange noises and messages? She rubbed her forefinger with her thumb. The paint was still there. Dried slightly, but still there.  
Walking briskly, she found herself in front of the large floor mural her father had been admiring earlier. '_Something_ of the Deep'. She couldn't remember. She didn't really care all that much.  
There was a gap in the velvet rope that had separated the painting from the onlookers. There were two small, blue footprints that looked like they were walking into the painting. Ib crouched down and put her hand against the painting, expecting to feel the firm, cold floor beneath the mural. Instead, her hand went right through the floor, into cold water. She almost fell in from the shock. Standing up and taking a deep breath, Ib readied herself.  
"Come Ib"  
She moved to the edge.  
"Come down below"  
She shut her eyes and clenched her fists.  
"I'll show you some place secret"  
She dived in.


	3. Chapter 2

Stairs.  
She was standing on stairs.  
She laughed. Her clothes were completely dry, as was her hair. Certain that none of this was real, Ib closed her eyes and pinched herself, expecting to wake up in a nice, clean, white room in Bedlam. No such luck. When she opened her eyes, she was stood in exactly the same place; a dark blue room, with a painting on the wall each side of the staircase, on red and one blue. A hallway extended down past the paintings on both sides. She looked along the length of the corridoor to her left.  
"Alright, this way first." The word "COME" adorned the wall, written several times in bright blue.  
Her footsteps echoed as she walked. At the end of the hallway, there was a table with a vase on it, in front of a door. In the vase, there was a rose. Vivid, crimson petals swirled around each other and clung to the stem. Ib bent down, and picked up the flower. Several petals drifted to the ground, and Ib felt an itense pain spread through her. Bent double, she gasped, clutching at her side. She stumbled to the side and the rose flew from her grasp, the stem dipping in the water of the vase. Instantly, Ib felt better. She stood up straight and reached out for the rose, plucking it from the water's grasp. The rose looked more vibrant, replenished...It seemed as though the petals had regrown. Then she realised, the water had restored it, and stopped her from hurting at the same time; this rose was her life force. She felt sick at the thought of what would happen if all the petals were removed. If she died here, would she die for real? Would her parents even know? Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, and she clenched them shut, and heaved against the table, pushing it out of the way of the door. She reached out, taking hold of the cold, brass doorhandle. It clicked and rattled as it turned, then the door swung open. On the wall opposite her was a portrait of woman. Her eyes darted from side to side, and her tounge lolled out of her her mouth, a serpent-like expression etched onto her painted face. On the floor in the middle of the room, there was a blue key. Ib bent down and picked it up, it was cold to the touch. She backed up towards the door, never once taking her eyes off the sinister painting, and exited the room. The door closed behind her, and she began to walk forward. Wait... Blood red letters...  
"THEIF"  
She gulped. The welcoming, blue letters had been replaced.  
"THEIFTHEIFTHEIFTHEIF"  
She sprinted to the other end of the corridor. Another doorway. Shoving the key into the keyhole, she hurriedly rattled the doorhandle until it turned. Drip-thump. Drip-thump.  
Here goes nothing.


End file.
